


The Will of the Goddess

by Smul_shinya



Category: Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cages, Crisis Core Era (Compilation of FFVII), Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Human Experimentation, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, IgNoct, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentioned Aerith Gainsborough, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, Polyship Roadtrip, Poor Noctis Lucis Caelum, Psychological Torture, Shinra Company, Torture, Wingfic, Wings, Zack Fair Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22315270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smul_shinya/pseuds/Smul_shinya
Summary: Noctis gets captured during yet *another* magitek ambush and his friends are left scrambling. Unable to free him on their own and with time running out, they resort to accepting the help of three strangers who find themselves in a similar position.The crossover of ffxv and ffvii Crisis Core that I've been wanting.
Relationships: Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Zack Fair/Angeal Hewley/Genesis Rhapsodos/Sephiroth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 93





	1. Loveless, Act 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo! Another fic I probably wont finish but I love the concept so we're going with it! 
> 
> I recently fell for Zack Fair and since I love beating on Noctis I thought this would be a perfect chance for the two of them to be tortured TOGETHER! What could be better??? Absolutely nothing! 
> 
> Leave Kudos and comments if yah can! I'd love to hear what yall think! <3

“Any movement?” Gladio glanced up from where he had propped himself up on the railing of the lookout tower the three of them had managed to take several days ago. He huffed, seeing the tell-tale spikes of Ignis hair as his companion climbed up the last few steps to join him, weary from days without rest. In one hand was most likely his 8th Ebony of the day, not that Gladio could blame him. All of them were exhausted, even Prompto, the third member of their trio who had road a Chocobo into town for some fast food and curatives for the mission ahead—and that kid was _never_ tired.

“Nothing,” Gladio muttered, adjusting his position a little bit, stretching his toes till he felt unused joints pop and protest. Ignis sighed, joining the shield with an unrestrained huff. He tipped the can towards Gladio and while normally the shield never drank the foul stuff, he took it gladly and finished the can off.

* * *

Nearly a week ago, Noctis had been taken from their group during yet another magitek attack. The soldiers were raining from the sky damn near constantly in the days leading up to the kidnapping. Sure, they had grown used to a continual smattering of MTs where ever they went, but they never stayed long enough to attract too much attention. Perhaps they should have realized then that something was amiss, even if the reasons were still obscured. But no, worn out, assaulted by daemons and impeded by MTs from ever reaching a homestead or city, they found themselves weak. Too weak to think ahead. Too weak to realize that the MTs were slowly but surely backing them into a corner. Too weak to protect the one person they were duty-bound to do so.

In the final battle, dusk had settled like a sheet of lead upon the land, carrying with it the smog of rain. In the forest, their chest lights were the only beacon as the rain hazed their vision. They should have been more aware, more focused. And at first, it seemed like any normal battle. Back to back one moment then ozone filled the air and Noctis disappeared in a smattering of blue crystals, reflecting his muted expression back to them in hundreds of broken shards. He wasn’t weak—none of them were. But perhaps they had grown cocky. After all, they had fought hundreds of MTs with little to no problem. They were in a rush, dusk was settling and the daemons would be out soon—so I suppose that is why none of them looked up to realize that the drop ship—usually only a fleeting presence in the battles—was hovering just above the forest, waiting patiently. Perhaps that is why they did not notice the slight variations in these MTs as one of them tracked the erratic movement of the warping prince.

  
A little red light pinned itself to the prince—no one really knows if he himself noticed if he tried to get away—because that moment passed and the harpoon shot from the machine the MT held, carrying with it wires and cords that pierced straight through the prince’s stomach. The battle raged on around that scene, not one of the retinue noticed until the anchor had expanded, settling itself in his stomach. His scream pierced the forest, bouncing amongst the trees like a wayward echo. And then the electricity was pouring through those metal cables until his screaming stopped. They tried to get to him—if someone asked Ignis they did not try hard enough—but the MT were shockingly intelligent, blocking their attempts before they could even try. And before their eyes, the MT that had launched that cursed harpoon was being lifted up by the dropship, and along it was Noctis. The MT was smarter—nothing like the mindless creatures they had fought for months before. They should have realized it, but it was too late. Without Noctis’s warp ability, they could only helplessly watch as he was hoisted higher and higher. Too high to try and rescue without risking him falling to his death.

  
So they did the next best thing, hopping into the Regalia, running over the remaining MTs, and chasing the dropship all the way to the nearest imperial base. Since then, the ship had not left.

* * *

Ignis slowly hunkered down next to Gladio, picking up the binoculars they’d been using and training them within the high walls of the base. The view was not the best, but they had limited options at this point. It seemed every plan that Ignis concocted was hinged on the magic they’d come to rely on. No Noctis, no magic. And thus, his retinue felt utterly helpless, relegated to watching the base and praying that Noctis was at the very least holding on.

  
“The Marshall finally got back to me,” Ignis murmured in the recurring silence that seemed to plague the group since Noctis’s abduction, “he said we should wait until he arrives before invading the base.” He held up his hand when he saw Gladio’s mouth open to answer. “I explained to him the circumstances and warned him that should they change, I would make the decision to intervene as I saw necessary. But… the Marshall’s help is not unappreciated.”

  
“Damn right,” Gladio muttered, running a hand through his greasy hair—when was the last time any of them took a shower, brushed their teeth. “Aint no way I’m letting the kid get taken to Niflhiem.”

  
“I never suggested you would.”

  
“But you have been thinking it,” Gladio muttered, turning his burning eyes on his closest friend. Ignis breathed out a long sigh, tracking a bird as it ghosted its way through the endless sky. It was rather annoying that Eos was burst with life when its very king was in peril.

  
“… your soul purpose is to ensure his protection.” Ignis grit out, eyes shooting to the side. “And you failed. You got comfortable-it is our duty to stay alert! And you…” Ignis’s shoulders stiffed, crumpling the empty Ebony can in his gloved hands. Gladio puffed up his chest but felt it deflate just as quickly. Was Ignis truly wrong?

  
“Ig-“

  
“I do not care to hear your excuses right now. We all failed him. I pray that his wounds are being tended to at the very least.” His voice was tight and strained—clearly in pain as he bit out the words before standing up, moving to stretch when he heard the clipped fall of Prompto’s boots.

  
He turned around, prepared to lecture the Prince’s friend for taking his time when he saw the normally chipper kid frozen.

  
“H-Hey guys…” Prompto called, cadence interrupted by the sword positioned just beneath his Adam’s apple. Ignis had his daggers materializing in his hands before he even formulated the thought—vision red with rage. The man holding Prompto was red—red hair, red jacket—and smirked with shark-like teeth, watching Gladio and Ignis shift with the tensions of battle building up inside of them. It would only take a twitch of his muscle to drag the rapier across Prompto’s thin throat. It would take only a second for their blond compatriot to be felled.

  
“Well well, it seems there are more rats lying about~” The man hummed, voice musical in a way that was eerily similar to that of one chancellor Izunia. Ignis’s fingers tensed more—if possible. “Could it be that you children are planning to attack~?” The man in red hummed thoughtfully, moving on the tips of his toes like a dancer as he tugged Prompto around the deck of the observation tower. Prompto followed haplessly, tumbling with the sole intent of keeping his neck attached to his head. Ignis pivoted, feeling more than seeing Gladio rise behind him, drawing forth his broadsword with a snarl on his lips.

  
“Who the hell are you?” Gladio bit out, already on edge from losing the Prince, but to lose the kid’s best friend too? What kind of worthless shield would he be then?

  
“Ah, infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess.”

  
“Yeah? I don’t see no goddess ‘round here.”

  
“Wait- Goddess, do you speak of Shiva?” Ignis moved an inch forward, hoping that this man was but a messenger of the gods and not one of the imperial dogs that resided in the base. His question caused the man to pause, taking in Ignis like one would a fine wine before kicking Prompto forward against Gladio.

  
“I know not of this “Shiva,” but alas great artistry is seldom appreciated in its time.” The man in red swung his sword around, smirking as he saw Prompto and Gladio struggle to right themselves. “Loveless, Act 1.”

  
“I am afraid I have not heard of this play. Perhaps we can set aside our weapons and discuss it.” Ignis ventured, hardly lowering his daggers. Hubris told him he could take this man easily, but it was hubris that had taken their prince from them.

  
“While that may prove interesting, my comrades would not appreciate a frivolous delay.” He straightened his blade at Ignis, eyes glowing as if lit from behind, flickered from Ignis to Gladio. Ignis berated himself internally, of course, the man had back up. Prompto most likely divulged—albeit accidentally—that it was only Gladio and Ignis atop the tower. Their reputation preceded them. “But perhaps you have information that could prove useful.” The man in red proceeded, stopping Ignis from the internal spiral he was ever so slightly inching towards.

  
“And what is it you would like to know?”

  
“Well, common sense would suggest you three are planning on entering that base, are you not?” Ignis nodded silently, backing up till he would feel the vibrating nervous energy that Prompto was exuding. “Excellent. We have the same goal then.” The three men froze, shooting each other hesitant glances before refocusing.

  
“Who are you,” Ignis asked, voice like sharpened knives on steel, leaving no room for riddles or taunts. He needed answers. Was this man not with the Imperial army as they formally thought? Even so, the man in red savored the fear that the young men couldn’t hide.

  
“My, you are indeed a fine specimen. Were you in Soldier, Hojo would be all over you, that’s for sure.” He hummed more to himself, tapping his chin with a playful smirk. Ignis growled, disliking the idea of anyone being “all over” him. But a pissing match would get them nowhere.

  
“I asked you a question,” Ignis repeated, clenching the hilts of his daggers over the rising anger. “Are you with the Empire?”

  
“Empire?” The man paused, eyebrows momentarily knitting together. He shook his head but received unconvinced glares from the young men. He sighed and looked towards the sky, a view blocked for the young men by the roof of the look outpost. The man in red whistled sharply, watching as two large objects dropped from the sky. Gladio hefted his sword up. They were used to falling objects being Magitek soldiers that when two more men appeared, they nearly attacked.

  
Although not nearly as gaudy as the man in red, they were of similar stature, tall and built like soldiers—like Drautos. They were clearly experienced in war as their expressions betrayed nothing as they looked down at the boys. The man in red spoke to them in a foreign language, flowing. For a moment it reminded Prompto of the conversations Noctis had with his father in Ancient Lucian. The man in red laughed lightly, gesturing at them which only served to stiffen their positions.

  
Too soon the three men turned to face them and Ignis felt his resolve shake a little. They never had to fight Drautos, and despite their training, Ignis doubted the four of them at their peak could take him. These three men could crush them at their best—not to mention now when they were down a member and exhausted.

  
“Who are you?” Ignis managed to grit out, summoning the courage that only came out for Noctis. He had to keep his head, Shiva knows the others wouldn’t. The tallest of the group, a man with sweeping silver hair, glanced down at Ignis, then at the third man—who truly could have been Gladio’s uncle. Their resemblance was uncanny.

  
“We are SOLDIERs.” The silver-haired man replied simply, causing Gladio to snort. Ignis shot him a silencing glare but the shield was frustrated and his temper often got the better of his logical reasoning when he lacked proper rest.

  
“Yeah, so are we. Who yah fighting for?” The question seemed to cause the men great pause as they glanced at each other, confused on how to answer next. The man in red turned to his companions, grinning.

  
“It’s like I told you. We aren’t in Midgar anymore. These kids probably do not know what SOLDIER is, much less ShinRa.”

  
“My focus has been on Zack’s retrieval… I guess I overlooked how far we must have traveled.” Gladio’s double heaved a heavy sigh, voice catching on the name “Zack”. Ignis paused, worrying his lip before speaking again.

  
“You are looking for someone?” He called, stirring the men from their internal conversation.

  
“Yes.” Gladio’s double replied succinctly. “Lieutenant Zack Fair. SOLDIER First Class. He went missing approximately a month ago. We have tracked him here.” He gestured towards the compound causing Ignis to relax just a little more.

  
“We are on a similar mission. Our friend Noct was kidnapped during a raid by the empire. He is also being held within.” The men frowned, glancing at each other in silent debate.

Gladio’s double spoke again, arms crossed over his chest only adding to the intimidating expression he wore like armor.  
“Our missions align then.”

  
“I suppose they do.”

  
“I am Commander Angeal Hewley.” Gladio’s double finally relented, sticking out his hand in a gesture that surprised Ignis. His face must have betrayed his shock for the large man chuckled. “We are not here to harm you three as long as you were not involved in Zackary’s kidnapping.”

  
“Of course if we find you to be lying then Goddess only knows what sort of wrath you may incur.” The man in red practically purred, relishing the possible pain that he could inflict upon then boys trembling before him. Gladio grunted, shoving forward as his eyes narrowed on the three strangers.

  
“How do we know you ain’t part of the empire, huh?” He snarled, moving his broadsword towards them when it was smacked away but the nearly imperceptible parry of the sword of the final member, the cat-like eyes of the silver man glinting at the shield.

  
“We have no affiliation with the empire nor do we know what the empire you speak of is. Our goals are aligned in that we both need to rescue those imprisoned within the base. As our goals are the same, you need not know any more personal details about any of us.” He spoke in a near monotone, voice not devoid of emotion for that would stipulate that at one point he had them—no, this voice spoke as if he’d never felt a single thing his entire life and was reading the words printed out my another. Ignis reached out, resting his hand on Gladio’s shoulder in a calming motion. The truth was, Cor was a day out and may not come in time for them to stage the intervention needed to rescue Noctis. These men were strangers, but if their entrance and rescue of this “Zack” created even the smallest of distractions, they could use it to rescue Noctis.

  
“At least tell us your names. I’d rather not call you by some childish nickname.” Angeal huffed in a familiar friendly way, looking to his companions for their own introductions. When the pause stalled, Ignis released his own sigh, adjusting his glasses. “Fine. My name is Ignis. This is Gladio and that is Prompto.”

  
“H-hey! I don’t want them knowing my name!” Prompto squawked, glancing at the man in red who waved predatorily.

  
“What are they going to do? Hack your King’s Knight profile?” Gladio snapped, silencing Prompto.

  
“Odd names.” The man in red hummed, causing a furrow to etch itself between Ignis’s brows. Now was not the time for needless confrontations he reminded himself for what felt like the millionth time since these men had entered his life. “My name is Genesis.”

  
“And I am Sephiroth.” The silver-haired man finished. Ignis nodded, keeping pleasantries to a minimum, and grateful for neither of his comrades for commenting on their odd names.

“We have a plan for infiltration.” He murmured, turning to face the base once more, keeping his daggers out should he feel any sort of threat from the virtual strangers. “But we planned to enter under the cover of twilight. The base is large and stealth will be our friend while trying to find Noctis and your Zackary—should you agree to assist us, I require you follow my instructions.” There was a pause where he thought the men would argue with him but Angeal stepped forward—easily the most reasonable of the group—and nodded.

“Tell us what you need.”


	2. First Class SOLDIER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing our kidnappees

Honestly, it wasn’t fair. This entire situation absolutely sucked. Maybe there was a more eloquent way to say that—surely Genesis or Sephiroth would reprimand him for his “sloppy” speech”—but that didn’t make it any less true. He groaned, rubbing his forehead against the ground, trying to chase the loneliness away. The memory warmed his chest, despite the situation. His mind had become his only solace in what had now become his life.

A simple cage made of four walls, bars all around him offering windows into the sterile laboratory that housed him.

Time had become irrelevant. Well, to be fair, time was very relevant but he wasn’t exactly at liberty to keep track of it. Since his arrival here, he’d spent most of his time in a drugged up stupor. He was given only the necessary nutrients through an intravenous tube, taking away the opportunity for him to track time by meals. And since the laboratory had neither windows nor clocks and doctors on constant standby, he had no idea how much time had passed or where he was.

No idea, except very far from home.

In the beginnings, the doctors had yelled at him in words he couldn’t understand. He yelled back of course—no one spoke to a First Class SOLDIER like that!—but that didn’t really improve the situation.

A groan trickled from his lips, no one bothered to look up. Was he really so invisible that they wouldn’t even dignify him with a look of pity? He thought he deserved at least that much. Annoyed, and left to his own devices, he tried wiggling his numb fingers, drawing blood into hands where the shackles had long since cut off circulation. The metal secured him to the floor of his cage, like a dog.

Generally, he was rather fond of his mentor-given nickname but the irony had been taken too far. The iron shackles encasing his ankles and wrists were tight enough that even at his strongest they may not have budged. And he was a long way away from his strongest. As pins ran through his fingers he felt another groan build in the back of his throat. He tossed his head, staring at the little needle that was slowly taking his blood. The only thing that changed—everything else the scientists had automized, but not this. They would sporadically collect bags of his blood, leaving him exhausted. Not exhausted as he had been as a young cadet just enlisting in SOLDIER when he was roused before dawn with the rest of his unit, forced to run till you dropped or puked and not a moment sooner. Another memory rising up unbidden, it even drew a smirk to his lips. Even if the constant drain of his blood had left his mind more flighty than normal—Angeal would laugh at that thought--it wasn't a _huge_ change from how he normally acted. In his prison, so many innocuous thoughts passed through his idle mind. Like how, when he was younger he hated laying on his stomach, it always left him feeling nauseous but ever since Hollander’s experiments he found he had very little choice—

Oh! It’s probably a good idea to mention that this wasn’t the first time in as many years that he’d been kidnapped.

In fact, immediately prior to his current entrapment, he’d been lured up to the laboratory floor by Doctor Hollander—the man responsible for both Angeal and Genesis’ care within the SOLDIER program.

Hollander had messaged him, said that he needed him right away and like the eager young SOLDIER he was, he readily answered the call, taking the service elevator by the barracks up to the seventh floor. He never arrived at the floor. The gas began leaking right after he pressed the button—he knew as soon as he smelled it. But there was nothing he could do. The elevator was on the move and he was too high up to survive the fall should he try and break or stop the contraption. The dose must have been strong too—strong enough to fully incapacitate the first-class soldier within thirty seconds. No, the last thing he remembered was the door cracking open and the plain brown loafers of one of ShinRa’s doctors before the gas overcame him.

When he woke up there was pain, thick and nauseating as it pierced his shoulders, like drills digging into the bones. Hundreds of little hooks that latched into his muscles and ripped them apart at the seams. It radiated through him like no agony he’d known before. Tubes connected to his limbs feeding in venomous mako, pulsing through his blood and his heart at a rate higher than anything he’d taken before. Sedative mixed in with the thick sludge that cooled the blood in his veins. Perhaps it was a combination of the two that distracted him from his disheveled form—the missing shirt and shoes, leaving only the thick SOLDIER issued boxers.

He tried to speak, exclaim his protest, let someone know that there had been a mistake and that he needed help, but his tongue was thick from disuse. Who knew how long he was asleep, all he could feel was the pain of needles wormed into his skin and the restraints that held him in the air horizontally. Although the cool air breezing over his body was quickly taking precedence, goose pimples running down his skin in little trails. His groan must have alerted the man responsible for his misery as Hollander was quickly before him, breathing the scent of sour milk into his face.

“How are you feeling, Specimen Z?” He breathed, bearing an ugly grin that sent shivers down his spine. Of course, Zack was just waking from his induced nap and no answer came quick enough for the mad scientist who flashed his penlight at his glowing pupils, smiling darkly. “You will likely be unable to talk for the duration of your time here but I promise that you will be treated with the utmost respect while in my hands. Unlike that disgusting Hojo. How lucky for you~” He laughed as if this entire situation was unbelievably hilarious.

But it wasn’t. His body felt too hot, the mako filling him up too full—his skin felt tight, his cheeks flushed. It was too much. Like a balloon moments from bursting but with his too-thick tongue he could not hope of formulating all of the rampant thoughts flooding his mind.

Then that man’s hand was touching his shoulder blades, traveling down his spine. There was an ache growing in his bones and as the man stroked his skin with such gentle tenderness the ache only grew more. A tiny groan escaped his lips, quickly dampened by biting his lip.

“It must ache terribly, hm? I remember Angeal and Genesis were in agony before it emerged.” The “it” struck Zack to his core, a new panic taking root. Perhaps he’d read too many comics or watched too many horror movies, but anything “emerging” from him sounded like bad news. He wanted to whine, to protest, but that wasn’t the way of a SOLDIER, and the pain was more of an ache than anything else. He could handle this, he tried to tell himself, tried to dismiss the ripping pain as just an ache because an ache he could handle. The mention of Genesis and Angeal had him attempting to focus, to pay attention to the way that Hollander caressed his back—as much as it disgusted him. Surely Angeal would show up and tell him this was simply another task for him to complete. Another step towards him becoming the hero he was meant to be. Surely…?

“I told your fellow elites that you would be indisposed for a few weeks. Unlike your predecessors, who were born with S-cells you are being slowly integrated with them now. It should take only a few weeks for the effects to be apparent. Fear not. I informed Commander Hewely that the Turks would require your assistance for the next two months. I know how much you strive for his good graces.” His greasy fingers wandered into Zack's hair and this had the young SOLDIER bearing his teeth in anger. This touching was not cold and unfeeling like the other ShinRa doctors, even if he could manage to fluster the women fairly well. No this was different—different than anyone had touched him before. It was rough but playing at gentle, slow in a way that bared no signs of scientific curiosity and everything of repressed urges.

No, he was still young, barely nineteen and had spent his teenage years under the employ of ShinRa. Now yes, he’d seen his classmates sneak girls into the barracks, or spend their off day’s at the Honey Bee inn but Zack was never interested in that. His goal was to make it to first-class and once Angeal took him on as his apprentice that became his life. He never thought about pursuing… that particular avenue of youth. He was content with his workouts and stolen beers, the drunken nights when Angeal was off on missions. He was happy with his childhood. Happy with his newly budding relationship with Angeal, Genesis, and Sephiroth. But he was naive.

He sucked on his tongue, trying to draw moisture back into his mouth to demand Hollander stop. Maybe the man saw it in his eyes, maybe he was simply done with his stereotypical villainous monologue but Zack saw him pick up a small thin syringe and wheedle it into one of the tubes, pushing the plunger down.

“Do not worry, Specimen Z. I will take good care of you. For now, I have learned, it is not necessary for you to be awake.” He was back in Zack’s face, touching his jaw with rough hands that spoke of age and years of lab work. “When I am done here, you will rival… No, you will surpass Sephiroth. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” And with drugs already puling at his mind, Zack could only think, “not like this.”

That was the first kidnapping. Muddled by drugs and pain, he could hardly recall his stay with Hollander. He knew that no one came looking for him, or if they did, no one found him suspended in some barren room like a glorified puppet.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

*Clearly* someone found him, given that he was now in yet another cage. Spread on his stomach on the cold floor, goose pimples crawling up and down his arms. His body was numb, shivering every now and then when the temperature made it through the dam of drugs clouding his mind. Hollander’s experimentation finally bore fruit, skin splitting in twin ravines as small wings broke through. Wings. Feathered and glossy, clinging to his back, still sticky with blood and viscera. He’d seen some of the fallen feathers, silken and stained pink. The scientists readily snipped the longer flight feathers, carting off pieces or bone, muscle or feathers. He was simply a specimen—just as Hollander had intended. Pity flooded his mind, feeling more and more helpless the longer he lay still. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been here but his muscles were atrophying. Ugh, enough reminiscing, he tossed his head to the side, resting his cheek on the metal as he passively gazed at the lab.

At least he wasn’t alone anymore. There was another boy who’d been brought in. He was brought in in a flurry of doctors and nurses, talking and shouting in the language Zack couldn’t hope to understand. He smelt of blood so poignantly that it roiled Zack’s stomach. His shirt was ripped off revealing a stomach wound that went all the way through. Blood pooled beneath the kid as they packed the wound with gauze. The kid was still awake, head tossing to the side in a silent scream, hissing when they probed at the wound. They looked similar, the boy with raven hair fluffed and dirty, until he opened his eyes and Zack was met with glowing violet magic, the air crackling around them. The young SOLDIER couldn’t see any materia, only the boy glowing. Of course, that had only been for a moment before the kid disappeared.

He came back though. Tied up in a similar cage to Zack, sporting a tight metal collar. He could see the burn marks radiating from beneath its tight embrace. A shock collar of some kind. He winced in sympathy. At least the scientists hadn’t put one of those on him. They were placed next to each other. If the bonds were any looser then maybe their fingers could have touched. Zack couldn’t help feeling a pull of protectiveness for the kid next to him.

He was skinny, muscles barely filling out his form and despite the bandages that wrapped around his chest, Zack could see the countless scars that spoke of battles long ago. He didn’t look like a fighter. He looked young and when he slept he looked small. Zack could handle the imprisonment—he was trained to deal with torture and isolation. But this small thing shouldn’t have to deal with it! No, it was his duty as a SOLDIER first class to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves! He chewed on his cheek, watching the other boy, wishing there was some way he could talk to him. Clearly no one spoke Midgardian around here… it was even less likely they spoke Gongogan. So instead he just stared. Tried to figure out who left and came, what they were doing.

He noticed the blood transfusions, saw the bags marked with his name being fed into the kid next to him. He should have considered what would have happened—should have realized that something was going on. But the wound in the kid’s stomach was still fresh and from the looks of it, not healing well. If the repressed moans and tears were any indication. So he didn’t think much of the blood—only was glad that in a round-about way he was able to help the kid.

Maybe two days into the boy’s arrival, he turned his head, eyes fuzzy from sedatives. He tried to speak, clumsy, syllables that Zack couldn’t hope to decipher. Zack shook his head, not knowing what more he could offer. The boy frowned, closing his eyes again as if the effort was simply too much. Zack’s heart thudded. It was getting hard for him to keep his spirit up. If the starvation was getting to him then there was no doubt that it was hurting the kid. He would have to find a way out for both of them, sooner rather than later. The kid needed real medical attention, as did Zack if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t continue waiting, hoping that Angeal would come to his rescue. He would need to start by being his own hero.

The splitting of skin and the screams from next to him brought him back to the present in time to see his neighbor’s back open and wings spill out. Zack’s eyes widened, feeling blood splatter against his cheek at the kid writhed in his chains, sobbing and screaming in a way that needed no translation. Zack was asleep when his wings had emerged, but the pain was still intense when he tried to move them.

Did that mean Hollander was here? Was he responsible for this??

No. Zack watched as the scientists crowded around, pointing at Zack and then the kid.

Had Zack done that to him? All the samples… was it his fault? His blood boiled. He’d been used—too trusting of Hollander, but this kid was a victim!

Zack looked up at the men and women, eyes glowing with rage, he would see to it that justice was served. The kid next to him was his responsibility now. He would raze this building to the ground—have Hollander be court marshaled—whatever it took to ensure that no one else fell victim to his studies.

But for now, he had to do the most painful thing possible—simply wait, and watch, and hope for an opportunity to free himself. Some hero he was...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boop~ 
> 
> Im a lil sad this story isn't getting the love but thats okay! Im pretty happy with the concept of the boys interacting with each other. Im super excited for ardyn to enter the scene hehehe <3 look forward to more!
> 
> \- Please leave Kudos and comments! I'd love to know what yall think about this :D - 
> 
> Shinya Argentum


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